No feeling
by Retro-Naruto-Curtains
Summary: A short story of John/ Sherlock, based on a tumblr post.


**A small John/Sherlock story bas on a tumblr This tumblr post:**

** post/33313848014/imagineyuorotp-imagine-your-otp-in-a-zombie**

Please comment your thoughts.

"-John no, don't do this to me... Eh, it's just a scratch! Nothing more! Its only the bites that affect us right?!-"  
Sherlock was in a frenzy. Oh, how he wished they hadn't ran through that small store for supplies. What was he thinking, risking their safety for a few cans,at the most!  
John moaned, his arm shooting with fiery pain from the grasp of an undead beast. It wasn't an unfamiliar pain, but not a welcoming one either and under these circumstances, he knew the costs.  
Sherlock just tugged at his hair, club in hand and undead on the ground, head beaten in. He tried to think, but he was under to much pressure; to much worry at what might become of John.  
He opened their bag of supplies, which were few, and pulled out a tattered, worn down blanket.  
Holding it down with his foot, he began to tear a strip and apply it to johns arm. He was pushed away.  
"- Sherlock... You know perfectly well, what is.. Going to happen to me, just leave me be and make off with what you can...-" John could feel an overwhelming feeling, like he was drowning; being flooded, for lack of better words.  
"- STOP IT!-" yelled Sherlock. "- I know you will be fine, you also come back stronger than before!-"  
His eyes began to sting from his anger, his growing despair at John just blatantly giving up at something, that could be fixed, right? But he knew he wasn't right this time, no matter how much he wanted to be; no matter the reassurance he gave himself.  
Blood began to dribble from Johns lips; his gums beginning to peel away. His eyes began to become bloodshot and cheeks running free with tears.  
He seemed so angry with himself, so lost with bitter self loathing.  
"-Sherlock, listen to me...-"  
The detective of a now dead world came and kneeled down in front of his friend, his greatest and one only friend.  
"- I want you to stay safe.. and try to live for as long...-cough- as you.. Can. Don't think,  
You can't make -cough- make it through...with...out me, just  
...just ...j..just.-"  
He began to cough madly, his hands grasping sherlocks in a grip of pain.  
Sherlock began to panic.  
"-no, John, I-it's okay, you can make it through this! You, uh-um! just need some rest! GET UP!-"  
But he couldn't move, he looked as if he want to, but just... Couldn't.  
Blood now flowed from his mouth like a waterfall and in one final move he pulled Sherlock down and spoke as best he could into his ear,  
"- I will... Always love...  
You.-"  
He then let go. His body becoming rigid and becoming alive with the undead virus. Soon he would get up and roam the dead planet for nothing but food and willowed with no thought.  
Sherlock just stepped back and stared.  
He felt as through he should scream or cry or do something other than... Stare.  
But the realization was sinking in all too slowly and he realized all too late that he was indeed alone.  
No John to help him get through or to comfort him at night. No John to be with; sweating in sheets of an abandoned building in the early morning hours when they felt safe.  
He started to become overwhelmed with boiling rage.  
"- why did you do this, John!? You KNOW I CAN'T do this alone! I'm not a solider like you, I don't know how to be a survivor!you were my will you blasted fool!-"  
He fell to his knees and pulled at his hair, sobbing. And when it turned to night, only the moon illuminated the Forsaken Earth.  
Sherlock could still be found on the ground, in the same position, still weeping.  
And in the middle of the night he would see his John rise and think  
"/see? You got through it, just like you always do/"  
When he'd move to embrace him, to wrap his slender arms around him, he wouldn't feel the pain.  
He'd feel close to nothing; numbed by the love for John.  
Those teeth would graze and bite his neck, but he would not cry out, would not thrash and plea. No, he'd only keep his John in his arms and just smile.

okay, it wasn't that great of a story, I just felt I should write something related to that text post.


End file.
